


certain as the sun rising in the east

by barricadeuse



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Out of Character, i have no excuses man i just wanted to fool around with les amis being objects, i mean obviously since they're all forniture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barricadeuse/pseuds/barricadeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has been a bottle for four years, one month, and seventeen days. A very beautiful bottle, mind you, made out of shiny emerald green glass with patterns engraved all around his neck, but a bottle nonetheless. And given the fact that a) it’s mid-February of the last year of the curse, b) Montparnasse still doesn’t seem to have grasped the concept that beauty is found within and that generally being a giant douchebag is not nice, and c) no one has showed up at the door claiming to be a True Love, he’s probably going to remain a bottle for the rest of his days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	certain as the sun rising in the east

**Author's Note:**

> so here it is, the beauty and the beast au nobody asked for except for me. i don't know, i just really wanted to write it but without enjolras and grantaire being the couple of the curse. so i figured montparnasse was ok for a very furry transformation. and i know it's long and probably screams "fucked up sleeping schedule", but hey, i'm not studying for my exams and i'm happy. also, this is unbetaed, so it's probably full of terrible mistakes one day i'm gonna correct, but it is not this day.
> 
> also, i mean, this is crearly ooc. they're all forniture. what could you expect?

Grantaire has been a bottle for four years, one month, and seventeen days. A very beautiful bottle, mind you, made out of shiny emerald green glass with delicate leaves engraved around his neck, but a bottle nonetheless. And given the fact that a) it’s mid-February of the last year of the curse, b) Montparnasse still doesn’t seem to have grasped the concept that beauty is found within and that generally being a giant douchebag is not nice, and c) no one has showed up at the door claiming to be a True Love, he’s probably going to remain a bottle for the rest of his days.

«How does a glass bottle even _die_? How are we going to put up with the drama queen upstairs forever? _How did we end up in this situation?_ » He sighs, dramatically, as he hops on the kitchen counter and stares at Éponine, who’s carefully brewing her tea for Montparnasse’s breakfast. Gavroche is jumping all around her, and Grantaire can’t help but worry that he might fall on the floor and smash in a thousand pieces of very expensive china. But Gavroche is obviously too smart for that, and when he jumps down it’s only to land safe and sound on Courfeyrac, who receives him with a tiny _squeak_ of his wheels. Éponine flashes a warning look at her brother from her exquisite blue-and-lilac patterns, and Gavroche grins back. _Petit démon_. 

«If you’re not going to do anything useful, Grantaire, can you please at least quit your whining?» She snaps at him, and then instructs Bossuet to let the two slices of bacon he’s just fried fall into a china plate whose name Grantaire can’t remember right now— was it even part of the curse? Because God knows it’s not the first time that Grantaire found himself talking to a piece of forniture which turned out to be, well, just forniture. «And if you really want to know how a glass bottle dies, I could push you off the edge and let you find out,» Éponine adds just when Musichetta hops onto Courfeyrac, a couple of fresh winter flowers in her ceramic-pot-self. She still hopes they will improve Montparnasse’s temper— ah, foolish girl. Foolish flower-pot. _Whatever_.

«Come on, Ép, how’s the tea? He’s going to wake up any minute now,» urges Combeferre, who is the one in charge of supervising every meal, since he’s a clock and the only one who has a minimum notion of time in the whole mansion— well, except for the fact that the rose is left with just one petal and they’re all doomed. Éponine nods and carefully steps onto Courfeyrac, trying not to spill a single drop of tea, when from the entrance hall comes the mighty voice of Javert, chandelier and auto-elected supervisor of the whole house because _we need law in here_ , shouting, «The master’s awake!» immediately followed by a piano playing a jig that should be happy but actually sounds more like some wild animal dying, since no one has bothered to tune Monsieur Thénardier for years. 

Courfeyrac sighs, muttering something about changing that damn song once in a while, to which Éponine suggests to cut all the strings and let it be over with, while Combeferre looks around, frantically. «Where’s Valjean?» He asks, and finally a huge bread basket jumps onto Courfeyrac’s bottom tray, full of sweet-smelling freshly baked bread. «Apologies, but the oven wasn’t feeling like working today,» Valjean explains, and while Courfeyrac wheels away at full speed, Grantaire clearly hears Combeferre sigh an exasperate, «Enjolras». 

Of course. Enjolras has been giving speeches again. _What a surprise_. The last time he rallied the house staff (now forniture), all the dusters decided to go on strike, and Montparnasse raged for three days straight about how his life was _full of pain and ugliness and dust and more pain and Grantaire you better fill yourself with the best wine in the house because I’m needing it right now and you all go back to work before I let Claquesous unleash a fiery hell upon us all_. After that, Grantaire had hopped for his life down in the mansion’s cellar and opened a bottle of _Very Expensive_ from 1989, Enjolras had sulked in the library and the dusters had been worked so hard that even Javert was left speechless. _Yeah, the ordinary life in the cursed castle. Thanks a lot again, Monsieur Bienvenu._

However. Back to the point. _Someone will need to do something about our friendly neighborhood revolutionary_. Grantaire isn’t exactly the main butler of the house (that’s Combeferre) and not even the lower butler (that's Courfeyrac). But he has the _immense_ privilege of spending long hours every night in the _delightful_ company of Montparnasse, his terrible breath and his very sharp claws, while he stares at the enchanted rose like some candidate for True Love is going to pop out of it. Which of course never happens. Which usually leads to Montparnasse drowning all of Grantaire’s contents and then proceeding to collapse on the sofa. This kinda makes Grantaire a jolly in the castle, with enough authority to politely ask ( _shout_ ) the Thénardiers to stop that terrible thing they dare call music and directing some of the kitchen activities. And since he’s mostly needed by their master during the night, he’s left with a lot of spare time.

 _Yeah, let’s go bother the candelabra_ , he decides, and hops out of the kitchen towards the library. As soon as he steps into the huge foyer, he’s greeted by a thundering shout from Javert, to which Grantaire doesn’t even bother to raise his eyes, «You better go tell that delinquent of a candelabra to never open his mouth again because next time he even tries to—» and _blah blah blah I am the law and the law is not mocked_ and stuff. The usual. It’s not like Javert could actually do some damage, since he’s well fixed on the ceiling and no one currently disposes of opposable thumbs to take him down— not that anyone would even try if they could, but that’s another story.

Grantaire says «Hi» to Cosette when he meets her, busy sweeping the dust off of the tall coat-hanger that is Marius, and she chirps a response in her lovely voice and seems like she’s not worried a bit about the impending possibility of remaining forniture forever. Well, she has Marius, and their weird-but-cute thing that’s been going on since before the curse. Still, Grantaire wonders if maybe she’d like to see Marius’ human freckles again, instead of the polished smooth wooden surface he’s made of now. Anyway. Grantaire hops away, avoiding one of Bahorel’s doors aimed directly for his very fragile frame— the wardrobe has this weird sense of humor that no one understands but Feuilly, who is currently busy trailing behind him a set of mops all ready to tackle the task of washing the main staircase. As a bucket, and a very large bucket at that, Feuilly is in charge of the cleaning schedule, which leaves him very little time to spend with his wardrobe boyfriend. As a result, all the castle surfaces are very clean and Bahorel likes to play potentially deadly pranks on the rest of the staff. _Again, thanks a lot, Monsieur Bienvenu._

When he finally manages to get to the library, after having been terrorized by a terrible roar from Montparnasse’s room (his bacon was probably not perfectly cooked or some stupid thing like that), he’s welcomed by the sight of Joly the first aid kit, leaning against an armchair and telling the story of how the mansion got cursed to Azelma, who is too young to actually remember a time when she wasn’t an hairbrush. «Once upon a time,» _five years ago actually_ , «in a faraway land,» _a few miles out of Paris to be exact_ , «a young man,» _a young asshole you mean_ , «lived in a shiny castle,» _a country mansion so huge he needed a legion of help to keep clean_ , «and although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoilt, selfish, and unkind,» _and that’s Montparnasse for you_. «But then, one winter’s night, and old beggar man came to the castle,» _the beginning of the end_ , «and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold,» _and we could have him sleep in the cellar or on the couch in the kitchens but no, Montparnasse had to be his usual bitchy self_. «Repulsed by his hagged appearance, the prince refused the gift, and turned the old man away,» _why, oh why_ , «but he warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within,» _but Mister Universe Montparnasse of course couldn’t understand that simple of a concept_. «And when he turned him away again, the old man’s ugliness melted away, to reveal a majestic enchanter. The prince tried to apologize, but it was to late, for he had seen that there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, he turned him into an hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there.»

«And that’s when the nightmare began,» snaps Grantaire. Joly sighs and Azelma looks puzzled. «But why was the enchanter wandering in a winter’s night? Why did he end up knocking on our door?» She asks in her clear voice. Joly is about to answer, but Grantaire precedes him, «Who knows, maybe that’s what 21st century enchanters do. They travel the world in search for douchy kids and curse them. We could try and Google it up if we weren’t completely isolated from the world,» as a side effect of the curse, obviously. _Again, Monsieur Bienvenu, thanks._

«But that’s not the point!» Says an angry voice from the top of the table, and Grantaire’s little glass heart shakes when a chiseled golden candelabra jumps on the floor, landing inches away from Azelma. Enjolras gains his balance and adjusts his two bright red candles, and then goes on. «We were trapped here for something we absolutely had no part in! We shouldn’t be cursed, we shouldn’t be following Montparnasse orders around, and we shouldn’t even stay in the castle! If we managed to rebel ourselves and maybe escape from the mansion, we—»

«Oh, yes, let’s build a barricade with the wardrobes in the hall, right beneath Javert’s screams, and then wander off into the world all free and fornituresque. I’m sure the Sorbonne will happily enroll a 19th century candelabra into his political sciences classes, Apollo,» answers Grantaire, and he would be grinning if he still had lips.

«Don’t call me like that, Grantaire.»

«Now, that chisel of the Sun god on your front must have some meaning, mustn’t it?» Grantaire teases, and Enjolras simply snorts, hopping away towards the philosophy section of the library. 

«Combeferre wants to talk to you about dinner! And Javert has made some threats about you rallying the furniture again. And please, don’t ever go to Claquesous again, he already has his troubles baking some bread. If you pour all those revolutionary ideas into him he might as well blow up the whole castle!» Grantaire can’t help to shout, and after a mutter from Enjolras that sounds very much like a « _It would be fucking time_ ,» Grantaire is left there staring at where Enjolras disappeared, with a desperate need to fly down in the cellar and roll himself into alcohol. He can’t get drunk anymore, but the smell might help. 

«You’re such an idiot,» whispers Joly, before opening his lid and letting Azelma jump in, offering her a ride to the bathroom cabinet where she usually rests. Grantaire knows. He’s a glass bottle and an idiot in love with a candelabra. _What a fucking joke_. 

Two weeks pass before he and Enjolras speak again— March is coming, bringing heavy rains and making Montparnasse’s mood even more gloomy. Bahorel almost decapitates Éponine, and she spills hot tea all over his handles. Courfeyrac likes to wheel Combeferre around the castle at impossible speeds, all while Combeferre shouts to _watch out for the windows!_ and Javert blabbers something incoherent about traffic regulations. Valjean spends a lot of time hanging down from Marius’s poles and talking to his probable son-in-law while Cosette follows Feuilly around to exterminate even the slightest particle of dust. Azelma and Gavroche chase each other in the foyer while Musichetta watches over them and Joly is ready to patch them up if they fall or hurt themselves. Bossuet fries and Enjolras rallies, and everything is settling into a strange normality. Grantaire can almost taste the sheer resignation of every inhabitant of the castle. Montparnasse will turn twenty-one in October, and there’s no way someone is falling in love with him in that short span of time. 

_If it’s true love Bienvenu wants, why can’t he settle with Cosette and Marius? Or Courfyerac and Combeferre? Bahorel, Feuilly? Damn, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta must emanate tons and tons of love. No, he needs the stubborn beast. Of course. It’d be easier making the candelabra fall in love with_ me. He snorts, as he hops towards the library. He’s been summoned by Montparnasse that night and if he’s gonna endure hours of terrible depression he’s damn sure going to read a few chapters of his favorite books to relax his nerves— _seriously, I’m a fucking bottle and I can’t even get drunk. Bienvenu, you are a cruel old enchanter, yes you are_.

He doesn’t even bother checking if someone’s in the library. He waves a «Hello» to Babet the carpet and heads for the mythology section. _This library’s wasted on Montparnasse. We need someone who loves books, someone who is going to air these rooms— a poet would be perfect_. Thank God, the volume of Book XVI of the Iliad is still where he left it last time, on the reading table. Nothing better than the death of Patroclus to cheer him up, right? Grantaire rolls the old pages open and starts reading. Homer’s words still get him every time, even if he knows them by heart. They were written thousands of years before him and they still hold such beauty, and that beauty is enough for him, yes, he may spend the rest of his days as a bottle but as long as he can read Homer and watch Enjolras and remember his golden human locks then he’s happy.

«What are you reading?» The voice comes from behind him and Grantaire’s heart jumps into his throat. Figuratively.

«HOLY FUCKING SHIT!» Grantaire yells, jumping back and ending up stumbling down on the book and rolling away until a lamp takes pity on him and stops him from falling on the carpet. Grantaire hops back up and sees Enjolras, staring at the book with a confused look on his chisel work.

«What is it?» He asks again, completely ignoring the fact that he has just given Grantaire a heart attack that could have killed him. Grantaire tries not to drool— can bottles even drool?— and answers, «The Iliad.» 

«In Ancient Greek?» Enjolras says, and Grantaire isn’t sure if the surprise in his voice should be flattering or insulting. He stays neutral and simply agrees. «I didn’t know you could read Greek, not even, well, _before_ ,» adds Enjolras, and he almost sounds guilty.

«Well, if you always thought me incapable of doing anything but drinking, scratch away your notes. I can read Latin too. I was actually thinking about picking up Hebrew or something, and then Bienvenu showed up and all hell broke loose,» Grantaire offers as an explanation, and Enjolras’ candles momentarily flicker. Is that the way a candelabra blushes? Still, Grantaire is pleased.

There are a few moments of terribly embarrassing silence, in which Grantaire considers escaping to the kitchens and whine to Courfeyrac, and then Enjolras speaks again, «Combeferre told me you were quite the artist, when we were human,» and holy hell, Grantaire certainly didn’t expect _that_. Yes, he was quite good, and he doesn’t even wanna begin to talk about the huge stash of sketches of Enjolras’ human face hidden away in what used to be his bedroom, but how the freakity frick is he supposed to answer that? «Erm— I guess?» He says, because this is the longest conversation he’s ever had with Enjolras in forever without any insults and he wants to run away and turn human so he’ll have lips again and _wait, what?_

«I’d like to see some of your work, do you still have it around?» Enjolras asks, and Grantaire probably makes the most confused face that has ever been seen on a bottle, because he immediately adds, «I mean, I overheard Cosette and Musichetta talking about a portrait you made of them and then also Éponine mentioned something and I guess you’re really really good and I was the only one who didn’t know about it?» And then he’s sounding a bit accusatory, or terribly embarrassed, Grantaire can’t quite tell the difference.

He’s about to answer something on the lines of _you never asked you stupid magnificent fuck, you were always too busy planning a revolution against Montparnasse to care_ , when Courfeyrac bursts in the library in all of his bar cart glory. «Grantaire, move it! The master’s looking for you,» he says, and Grantaire spots the ginormous barrel of wine resting on his lower tray. He snorts. «He said to go up at around nine, it’s barely seven! What’s happened?» But he’s already hopping away from Enjolras.

«He caught his reflection in a mirror,» the sheer horror of those six words sinks in all of the people-furniture in the room. Even Enjolras lets go a shocked, «Oh my God.» Grantaire is, of course, much more French and snaps in a «Fucking hell I though Combeferre had removed all of those in the first weeks of the curse!»

«Yeah, apparently he missed one and he threatened to smash Gavroche on a wall. It was quite brutal, to be honest. I’ve got a set of terrified silver spoons hiding in Bahorel’s drawers and Thénardier was pondering on what would fit the situation better between Mozart's Requiem and Beethoven's Fifth. Let's go!» Courfeyrac urges, and Grantaire hops onto him, turning back to catch a glimpse of Enjolras’ red candles before speeding out of the library and towards the patronal bedroom.

__

March has turned into April and Grantaire has surprisingly found himself having a lot more conversations with Enjolras than he’s ever expected to have in his whole lifetime. They meet almost everyday in the library, place themselves on one of the tables, maybe near the windows where they can see the flowers growing thanks to Fauchelevent constant attentions, and they talk. They started off from the Iliad, moved onto philosophy (Enjolras apparently is a very huge fan of Rosseau), Grantaire’s art, what were their plans if they had stayed human, and the curse.

«I think Monsieur Bienvenu was trying to teach Montparnasse and us all a lesson. I mean, he still is and Montparnasse _still_ isn’t learning. What I say is that the means of teaching that lesson are quite fucking annoying,» Grantaire declares, as Fauchelevent waters some hydrangeas right below them and Thénardier butchers Titanic's main theme in the hallway. Apparently there's a tiny chorus of dusters accompanying him and humming a very passionate cover of 'My Heart Will Go On'. 

«I see your point, but it’s so _unfair_. We’ve all been dragged into this situation when we _would_ have let Bienvenu in, if we had had the possibility. Now we’re trapped and doomed and we’re serving the person who caused us all this trouble! That’s why I say we should all just stop and leave. Maybe that would shake him up,» Enjolras shots back, and his candles are flickering again with light, matching the passionate tone of his voice.

«Probably, yes, but where would we go? At least here we are all in this crazy circus together, while out there we have absolutely no possibilities. So I guess we’ll just stay forniture forever,» Grantaire sighs, and Enjolras sulks. His candles sway towards the ground.

«Sometimes it’s like I can’t even remember that I was human in the first place. I forget which color my hair was or my eyes or how it is to walk on two legs instead of hopping around everywhere like an idiot», mutters Enjolras, and Grantaire laughs. It's a soft sound.

«You had blonde hair, don’t you remember? Full of waves. And blue eyes. They kind of looked like waves too,» he says, before he can stop himself. Then he freezes. Then he tries to calculate if the fall from the first floor would kill him, and then Enjolras answers back, «You had blue eyes too, didn’t you? Black messy hair like Courfeyrac’s.» Grantaire is too shocked to say something intelligent that is not, «Well, don’t let Courfeyrac hear you say that or he’ll kill you. He still talks about his goddamn hair and how perfect it was.»

They both laugh. Grantaire starts to think that being turned into a bottle was the best thing that ever happened to him in his whole life.

It happens that same day, at dinner. Combeferre is hopping up and down the kitchen counter supervising the pans and pots cooking Montparnasse’s meal, and the rest of the forniture is chattering, when Feuilly storms in from the foyer, hopping frantically and stepping onto a silver teaspoon. The collision sends him rolling around the kitchen. But that doesn’t stop him from screaming, «A boy! In the castle! There's a boy in the castle!» A moment of absolute and complete silence follows his words, and then everybody’s rushing to the door because _there’s a boy in the castle, a boy in the castle, a boy in the castle!_

In the foyer there really is a boy, and a very pretty boy indeed, long red hair loosely tied into a braid with a couple of flowers in it, huge oversized purple jumper and jeans so skinny that, Grantaire has to admit to himself, would probably beat the ones _Enjolras_ used to wear. _And damn, those were a sight for sore eyes_ , to be honest. The boy is holding a couple of books under one arm, while a brown backpack is hanging from one of his shoulders, and he doesn’t look the slightest bit bothered by the fact that he’s been stared at by at least forty different pieces of forniture who are still shouting, «A boy in the castle!»

He actually kind of smiles, and says, «Yes, I’m so sorry to intrude, but I’ve heard of this house and I wanted to see how it was on the inside. I figured it was abandoned. I didn’t, erm— I didn’t expect talking forniture to leave in it,» he offers as an apology. Grantaire can’t fucking believe it. Marius looks like he’s about to faint and Javert immediately shouts, «Play something for our guest!»

But before Thénardier can start, a low growl comes from the top of the stairs, and everybody shivers with fear. Trust Montparnasse to ruin his only occasion. «What are you doing in my castle?» He roars, still hidden in the shadows of the first floor. The boy looks up and smiles again. He has a dazzling smile. «Oh, I’m sorry. My name’s Jean, Jean Prouvaire, and I was just curious about your mansion, it looks so out of time and I just wanted to see it,» he says. And— Montparnasse doesn’t bitch back? Wait, is Montparnasse actually been silenced by someone? _Oh heavenly day. Oh glorious day_. Grantaire could kiss someone (Enjolras) in this moment. 

Then, Combeferre decides to take the matter into his hands (not that he really has hands) and asks Jean if he’d like a tour of the mansion. He chirps in delight (really, if a young man who doesn’t run away scared out of his mind by a stash of talking forniture isn’t the one, then Grantaire doesn’t know who could be) and followes him towards the living room, while Montparnasse mutters something about staying away from the west wing and goes back into his bedroom. 

For the next hours, all the castle talks about is Jean Prouvaire. Jean who loved the gardens, Jean who had a very long conversation with the carpets of the second floor, Jean who nearly fainted when he entered the library, Jean Jean Jean. Cosette sighs and Éponine tries not to let Gavroche’s hopes rise too high, but the truth is that it’s quite hard not to feel the possibility of humanity coming back to them when this magical boy has practically fallen out of heaven right on their front door.

When Combeferre announces that Jean is staying for dinner and has accepted Azelma’s shy invitation to stay in for the night, the whole of the house starts crying of joy. Even Javert.

__

It rains the day Jean actually really _sees_ Montparnasse for the first time, and even if no one is present, they consider the fact that the boy is still hanging around as proof of success. Grantaire also has found out that yes, indeed Jean is a poet— as he had told him his first night in the castle, when Grantaire had hopped all the way to the guest room to offer him a nice glass of cognac before sleep. A poet who studied Literature in Paris and who particularly liked old mansions.

«Do you think this is going to last?» Asks Enjolras during one of their usual talks. Grantaire likes to flatter himself with the idea that he’s not just talking about Jean and Montparnasse.

«I really don’t know,» he answers, «but I hope so».

Jean, or Jehan, as he has started asking everyone to call him within a week of his arrival at the castle, brings joy and bells and sunshine and rainbows in the castle. He sleeps, he takes his breakfast and flies out the door to get to his lessons in time. During his hours away, Montparnasse is even more insufferable than usual. But then Jehan comes back, announced by Javert, and Grantaire can swear that one he even saw Montparnasse _smile_. _Major changes happening here indeed_. Jehan sits in the library studying or takes a stroll around the gardens, always with Montparnasse silently stalking him. Then they have a dinner carefully prepared by Combeferre, who is now putting a double effort in all his dishes. It’s heaven, really, except for the fact that Montparnasse is still a furry hybrid between a menstruate bear and a very angry lion.

What Grantaire is dying to ask Jehan is why is he staying with them for so long. What is he _seeing_ in Montparnasse, who is the textbook definition of an uncommunicative asshat? The answer surprisingly arrives from Azelma, who stumbles into the kitchen one morning to talk about the conversation she had with Jehan the night before, during one of his very long baths and had asked her to help him brush out his hair.

«Did he say that he loves him?»

«Did you explain to him why he needs to break the curse? How he can do it?»

«Bossuet, we can’t talk about the curse. That’s part of, you know, the curse.»

«Maybe you could convince him by saying that Montparnasse is really kind of stupidly handsome and hot when he’s not a beast.»

«Excuse me, what?»

«Oh, come on, Marius, don’t be jealous!»

«But you just said—»

« _Tout le monde_ , please!» Shouts Grantaire, and everybody calms down. «Go on, Azelma, tell us.»

«Well, he said that he likes the house, it's certainly a lot nicer than his studio in Paris, and that he really _really_ likes us. About Montparnasse, I asked him, _why are you staying if he’s so annoying/i >, and he answered, _I don’t think he’s annoying, I think he’s scared. And I like him too_ , that’s what he said,» Azelma finishes. Everybody cheers, but that’s not what they need. What they need is _love_. Still, that’s certainly something they can work with, and Grantaire laughs because _poets. Poets are the solution to everything.__

__

July rolls in, with his hot summer skies and the end of Jehan’s University exams. He spends a lot more time in the castle, helping Fauchelevent with his flowers and bringing books from the library down one by one, reading them in the sun. Montparnasse lets himself be dragged outside for the first time in at least three years, and Grantaire catches Courfeyrac whispering something to Combeferre about being human again, together. Telling him of much he loves him.

Which actually gets Grantaire thinking, because if they ever get to become humans again, and it looks like a pretty huge possibility given the way in which Jehan is combing Montparnasse’s mane while reading Keats out loud to him, what will happen to him and Enjolras? Is this thing they have just a furniture thing, or will it last even when Enjolras will be back to his usual glorious self and Grantaire will have obtained his alcohol-consumed liver again?

He _could_ talk to Enjolras. They’ve been breaking so many boundaries in the last months, getting really close, but that’s— let’s not fool ourselves, that’s not an option. Grantaire sighs, risking a glance to where Enjolras is standing, on top of Monsieur Thénardier and arguing vehemently about the music that’s going to be played that night. _Oh, right_. The 14th of July. They always celebrate it, and when Jehan heard of it he was absolutely enthusiastic. So now he has Enjolras trying to persuade Thénardier into switching « _La vie en rose_ » with « _Ça ira_ », and Combeferre revolting the kitchen in the attempt to produce a meal that only features blue, white and red. 

It’s going to be an interesting evening, that is for sure, and Grantaire knows it when Montparnasse calls him to his rooms to help him decide what to wear. Grantaire really wants to tease him, but for the sake of the whole castle he bites his tongue and simply suggests a very huge black suit that used to belong to Montparnasse’s father and that now barely fits his very furry son. The irony of life. 

Everything goes smoothly, with Jehan and Montparnasse chattering and Courfeyrac wheeling around very patriotic dishes, Enjolras in the middle of the table with both his candles lit and the rest of the mansion staff hiding in every corner to see what happens. Until Jehan delicately sets down his fork and says, « _I love you_ ,» like he’s talking about the weather outside.

Montparnasse nearly chokes on the cheese he's eating, Enjolras drops one of his candles (which luckily doesn’t set the whole house on fire), Bossuet faints in a clang on the marble floor and Musichetta shivers so much that her flowers lose all of their petals. Courfeyrac crashes himself right into Monsieur Thénardier, who’s too busy playing a glorious _Hallelujah_ that doesn’t actually sound that bad. 

Grantaire sees the whole scene like it’s in slow motion— Jehan stands up from his chair that promptly falls back due to the amount of emotions filling the room, walks over to Montparnasse and pats him on his back, to make sure he doesn’t die. Which doesn’t happen. Montparnasse manages a strangled, «What?» To which Jehan repeats, «I love you. You’re sulky and a drama queen, but you’re also gentle and kind and I love you,» and then it happens. The castle shakes from the basement to the attic, while a blinding light fills the room sounding almost like a crystal bell. 

It’s all quiet for a couple of seconds, but when the light slowly disappears, it reveals a very human looking Montparnasse, with his long black hair and sharp azure eyes. He scrambles to hug Jehan and kiss him firmly on the mouth. Grantaire looks around— there's Cosette all tangled up with Marius, Joly and Bossuet hugging, Bahorel making out in a really embarrassing way with Feuilly. Courfeyrac is still trying to disentangle himself from the mess of limbs he now is in with Thénardier. 

The curse is broken. _The curse is broken_. Grantaire lifts his left hand and there they are, five fingers with bitten nails and skin that is no longer green glass. He’s human. _Oh dear_. They actually made it. And then it suddenly hits him. _Enjolras_.

Grantaire turns towards the table, trying not to look where Montparnasse is still kissing Jehan. He's there, sprawled between the plates, touching his perfect and godly face to make sure that yes, he’s back. He looks just as Grantaire remembers him, golden curls and light blue eyes, beautiful as a Greek statue. And when Enjolras looks at him, Grantaire feels his very human legs shiver, and shiver even more when Enjolras flings himself off the table, stumbling on the floor because he’s no longer only twenty inches tall. Then Enjolras is hugging him and running his hands through Grantaire’s hair and _this is all so unreal_.

When they finally get to see each other face to face, Grantaire desperately tries to come up with something smart to say, but all he can really do is gape in awe at the fact that Enjolras is no longer a candelabra and is currently in his lap. «I can hear you thinking from here,» Enjolras says, and Grantaire bursts into a very nervous laugh that is cut short by Enjolras’s lips. Enjolras is kissing him, and laughing adorably. _Enjolras. Kissing. Him_.

Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras’ waist and brings him closer, thinking that he’s probably never going to let go. _And yes, thank you, Monsieur Bienvenu._


End file.
